19 October 2001, 4.57 am
Come Sweet Slumber Enshroud Me In Thy Purple Cloak
normally when i can't sleep, it's my own sorry fault. maybe i sat
on my ass all day and didn't go to aerobics or even the CAFE. perhaps
i did go to aerobics but right before bed i drank fifty-eight tiny espressos
accompanied by a packet of those little coffee beans wrapped in chocolate.
fine: then you can blame the victim cuz it's the victim's fault. she asked
for it, hanging around all day dressed only in a paul smith t-shirt that
barely covers her arse, doing nothing but writing emails and nonsense
to people who won't pay her, not even if she's nice to them.
but tonight? hello? what did i fucking do, oh great god of insomnia, to
deserve this? NOTHING, that's what. big fat zero! are you stepping up
the punishment? why? i'm in enough shit as it is, thank you! i went to
the gym in the evening! i had a relaxing bath! i watched tv like a normal
person and didn't just hang on the net all night! i even, if we're getting
into the morally good stuff, tidied up the bedroom and HOOVERED and MOPPED
in there! so what the fuck, man?
and then to bring the voice in. what did i do to deserve the voice? i'm
tryin', you know! i'm really fuckin' tryin'! i'm not just sitting around
all day doing fuck all! well, ok, sometimes i am. but hell, i just swore
off the net for THREE WEEKS and it wasn't a problem! i've sent off more
cvs in the last month than i have in my entire life! everett true said
he liked my stuff! i'm making progress! yet still i get *this* booming
in my head:
You are fucking dead in this town, womane. Your career? Totally over.
Yes, before it even started. Do you have any idea how lame you are? What
a fucking cliche you are? Just how seriously you are about to crash and
burn? You define the word preposterous, darling. You are hubris. Your
greatest talent? Engendering schadenfreude in others. That's it. Better
put it on your CV babe, yeah, right at the top, because it's the only
thing you've shown any skill at in months.
how i hate the voice. it lives inside me like a fucking tumour, man. i
want to track it down and shoot it. i want to strangle it, for using my
own big words against me, for scurrying round in my brain and BITING it
and SHITTING in the wounds - WHY?
what to do? wank? we all know orgasm is NUMERO UNO for sending you off
to sleep. but don't you just hate those bitter tiny little orgasms you
reluctantly squeeze out when you're desperate for sleep? it's like your
body knows you're not doing it because you're actually horny, so to punish
you it delivers only the merest spasm. it offers less relief than scratching
an itch or tucking your hair behind your ear. it's a gnat's fart of an
orgasm, a cat's yawn of a thrill. i'm not getting my fingertip wrinkly
just for that, ya know what i'm sayin'?
it's just not going to happen for me tonight, is it?
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